Color photographs and video are likely to be the media used in creating images of future wars. But conflicts of the past have engaged artists in many media, and here we present memorable examples spanning more than 4,000 years. The people doing the recollecting are six distinguished members of the Chicago museum community. We asked them to select a work from their institution's permanent collection that treats some aspect of strife. They were not urged to deliberate. Instead, we hoped works would immediately suggest themselves, as indeed they did. Some of the reasons why are included in the texts written by each participant, which we present in edited versions. Notice that the cost and consequences of war receive as much attention as conflict. Artists and those who work with art are not, after all, politicians.

The tension in this image of violence in Northern Ireland is increased both by the fact that the witness -- the man and the camera giving us our point of view -- has turned his back on the source of danger. In addition, the central figure is reminiscent of the figure in Goya's painting of French soldiers about to execute civilians, "The Third of May, 1808." The title of this photograph leaves no doubt that the situation is grave and that lives are in danger. Because our trust in photography can be so great on the one hand, and so easily corrupted on the other, our knowledge that Peress risked his life to communicate the truth and true madness of this conflict to us makes this picture unforgettable.

This large captivating pastel conveys the emotions of a soldier who has survived a war. At first glance the eyes express a combination of anger, pain and regret; however, if one looks closer, an overwhelming feeling of sorrow and desperation dominates the face. In the artist's words, he chose to draw "a depersonalized soldier, the solider within, who has suppressed the emotion of the community of war." The high contrast of the foreground and background dramatizes the severity of his experiences. He said he gave an "interpretation of the moment in the Vietnam War that dealt with the remoteness, transcendence and finality of life." The work released years of pent-up survivor guilt and the feeling of "a soldier dehumanized by war."

-- Pim Yotti, curator, National Vietnam Veterans Art Museum

"Furlough's End," 1943, painting by Samuel Greenburg.

Many items in the collections of the Chicago Historical Society speak to the issue of war. My favorite is a wonderfully evocative painting. To me it captures much about what war means to the soldier. While there are many images that explicitly convey horrors of the battlefield, Greenburg reminds us through a simple embrace, that war is about loss, hope for a future not promised, and the fragility of love and family. I find this painting so haunting because of the embrace. It almost seems as if the soldier is holding on tightly to his past as he faces a dangerous and uncertain tomorrow. I also love this image because it was painted by an art teacher in the Chicago Public Schools. While it may not be the most sophisticated of works, it is ripe with emotion, capturing poignantly how national events and decisions alter our lives.

-- Lonnie Bunch, president, Chicago Historical Society

"Siege and Sack of a City," from Orlando Furioso (Venice, 1542) by Ludovico Ariosto (detail).

Ostensibly Ariosto's epic, a Renaissance masterpiece, is about love, chivalry and honor. The combatants also represent virtues and vices and express a long tradition of hatred and distrust between East and West. But the poem's relentless series of battles (one-on-one and between vast armies) have always impressed me in another way, especially when the book is read along with these colorful illustrations. To me they are evidence that we sometimes go to war "just because" -- just for the heck of it.

-- Paul F. Gehl, custodian, John M. Wing Foundation on the History of Printing, Newberry Library

Mesopotamian cylinder seal, circa 2330-2150 B.C., stone.

The object is a cylinder seal from Iraq (ancient Mesopotamia) dating to the Akkadian period. It shows six gods engaged in combat before the seated water god Ea. Ea holds a vessel from which flow streams of water inhabited by fish. Immediately in front of him, a standing god grabs the beard of a second god who falls on a mountain. The second pair of combatants grab one another's horned crowns and appear to brandish maces. On the far right, a standing deity stabs his foe, who has fallen to his knees, with a long spear. I chose this object because I am amazed that the ancient seal-cutter was able to execute this elaborate scene in such detail and to convey a sense of action on a stone cylinder that is only 11/4 inches tall.

-- Karen Wilson, director, Oriental Institute Museum

"August 9, 1945, having nobody to help her this girl died in the Enko River," drawing by Masato Yamashita (detail).

On Aug. 6, 1945, the United States dropped the first of two nuclear bombs on Hiroshima, Japan. Within a year, 140,000 people were dead. The "Unforgettable Fire" collection began in 1974 when the Japan Broadcasting Corp. (NHK) televised a picture drawn by a 77-year-old survivor who said he wanted to record a memory "which he could not erase." The NHK announcer suggested that anyone who experienced the bombing should draw pictures and send them in. The NHK was inundated with drawings. In 1982 the original collection was exhibited at The Peace Museum; today we house the first set of 24 reproductions. The images give an inkling of the immense store of memories that can never be forgotten. Four images are currently on display in our exhibition "Artifacts of Vigilance."